


Breathe Again

by always_a_queen



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Tommy Merlyn is Alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:17:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_a_queen/pseuds/always_a_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You jerk back to life with a sharp, desperate gasp, but the air you breathe doesn't quite feel or taste right." // Or: Tommy Merlyn is alive, Felicity Smoak is his knight in shining armor, and Oliver Queen finds both of these things very, very disconcerting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tommy

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you might have seen these drabbles originally posted on tumblr. I probably won't post them on ff.net, but I do want them archived somewhere for everyone's reading convenience.

You jerk back to life with a sharp, desperate gasp, but the air you breathe doesn't quite feel or taste right. It makes you cough and you try to roll over, but there's a sharp pain in your side and something's holding you down.

"Oh, my god, you're alive," a female voice says, and then there are hands on your chest, "Hey, hey, calm down. You're okay."

You pry open bleary eyes, but the world is blurred and grey. You try to speak, but your throat is dry. Someone slips something between your lips, and you suck down a few gulps of water before you start coughing again. Then there are arms around your chest and something is pulling you up.

You catch a glimmer of gold and a swath of pink blending with purple as whatever it is twists you around into a sitting position, letting your legs dangle off the side of something too hard to be a bed. You press a palm against the surface for support, unable to stop yourself from also leaning forward onto the person in front of you. You can still hear her voice, but you aren't sure what she's saying.

When the world starts to come back into focus, the first thing you notice are her curls, loose and mussed around her shoulders; the second thing is the blood streaked down the side of her face, then her pink lips and purple cardigan.

"Are you alive?" she says softly, and you wonder who she's talking to. "Are you okay?"

You think the answer to the first is _yes_ , but you're not sure about the answer to the second.

"My god," she breathes softly, and you feel her hand on your chest. When you look down, there's a white scar on the side of your ribcage. Her fingers trace it slowly.

"Who are you?" you ask, although what you actually want to know is _are you an angel?_

"I'm Felicity. You probably don't remember me, Tommy, but we need to get you out of here."

"Felicity," you say, drawing out the syllables so it sounds like _Fe-li-ci-ty_. It's like music.

"Please," she says, "Can you walk? We can't stay here. They'll find us, and they'll put you back in that... thing - whatever it is."

You don't know this woman, but somehow you trust her, and something tells you that whatever is happening - whatever _has already happened_ \- in this room has been incredibly _wrong_. You'd like to get out of here too.

You slip forward on the table so your feet touch the floor, and with help from _Fe-li-ci-ty_ you manage to stand and take a few unsteady steps. It seems to get easier as you go, however, and by the time you've reached the door and stepped into the hallway beyond, you're almost able to move without your arm around _Fe-li-ci-ty's_ shoulders.

You keep it there anyway; she doesn't seem to mind.

* * *

 

 _The League of Assassins_ , Felicity tells you when you ask who was holding you captive.

 _Leverage_ , she says, when you ask why they wanted you.

And that's the moment the questions cease because she pulls into the parking lot of a motel and tells you rather firmly to stay in the car. You start to protest, but she's already gone. You see her running towards the building with her arms wrapped around her middle and her curls washing out with the rain.

"So," she says once the two of you are inside, "You don't remember anything? You don't remember... _dying_?"

You shake your head. You're not sure if you're relieved, or terrified. You don't think you'd like to remember dying. At the same time, you also can't remember living.

"I'll run out in a bit, find us some food, and ditch the car. For now, we're pretty much off the grid. I paid cash, but I should still ditch the car."

You feel like you should volunteer to take some of that responsibility, and you open your mouth to do just that, but she shakes her head at you.

"I got this. Just, please, let me help you. Oliver would want me to." She stops talking then, brows drawing together in an expression that lands somewhere between sorrow and worry. "Oh, God. How do I tell him about this? About you?"

"Who's Oliver?" The name resonates in you, but you have no idea why.

Her eyes snap closed, and this time it's definitely pain on her face.

"A friend," she says, finally. "Your friend. You can trust him. I'll have to let him know what's going on - "

Just then, her phone lets out an ungodly screech, followed a series of strange tones that sound vaguely like that abominable sound you associate with dial-up internet.

(You're not even sure how you remember dial-up, but not 'Oliver'.)

A sharp, intense pain slides into your skull, and you press your palms against your ears in an attempt to block out the sound and stop the ache. It feels like your brain is about to burst.

And then the world gradually dissolves into white noise, buzzing in your ears. Your vision blurs, your heart beats quicker in your chest.

And then you _literally_ see red.

You come to your senses with your hands locked tightly around someone's throat. Felicity's wide eyes stare up at you. Her mouth is open, but no sound is coming out. Realization hits you like a punch in the gut, and you step back immediately, hands shaking, an apology lodged somewhere in your throat.

You bend over, hands on your knees. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her slide away from you, but then you realize she's going for the phone. A second later it's in pieces under the heel of her boot.

"What did they do to you?" she says, and her voice sounds hoarse. Still, she reaches out to touch you. You turn away from her.

You don't know what they did. And that scares the _hell_ out of you."

"Tommy," Felicity says softly, as if she's scared she'll frighten you, or set you off again, "I think they programmed you."

* * *

 

You don't sleep that night.

The rain continues to fall throughout the night, and for hours you stand at the window and stare at the droplets striking the windowpane and trailing down the glass.

On the bed behind you, Felicity sleeps. You can see her reflection in the window. Her blond hair is spread out across the sheets; both of her arms are wrapped around a cheap motel pillow. Her glasses sit on the nightstand, the lipstick has been wiped from her lips.

She's so trusting, and it unnerves you. You don't know why she would trust you; you've certainly not given her a reason to. You tried to choke the life out of her.

Yet, for whatever reason, she's still here.

God, what if it happens again? What if you can't stop it? What if you hurt her?

She's the only thing that is _certain_ about your existence. The only person you know, and the only person who knows you.

You think that a better man would be long gone by now. A better man would have realized that just by being in the same room with this woman, you're putting her in danger. _You_ aren't even in control of who you are anymore; you aren't even sure _who_ you are at all.

You don't know _what_ you remember. All that exists in your memory are fragments and glimmers of something abstract and indefinable.

You remember...pain, piercing through your side; you remember pressure on your chest. You remember coughing, choking. You remember people shouting and screaming.

 _Open your eyes_.

But not of it _means_ anything. It's disconnected from you, as if it happened to someone else.

You _remember_ desperately sucking in that first breath; you remember seeing Felicity's hair and lips; you remember her wide eyes and the frantic worry in her voice.

That is significant. That _means_ something. That is connected to _you._

"Tommy?" The touch of Felicity's hand is light on your shoulder blade and then it's gone, like she's not sure if it's okay. Her hand falls to her side, and she's standing so close to you that the sides of your fingers brush against hers.

"Yeah," you say, and you can hear the distance in your voice.

"You should sleep."

You turn to look at her, and your eyes only meet for a second before she looks away. Slowly, her fingers slide across your knuckles, wrapping gently around your hand until she's taken it in hers.

Her hand in yours feels like a tether, to reality, to sanity. You run your thumb across the smooth skin of the back of her hand.

"I can't," you say, "I just woke up."

* * *

 

Felicity practically falls asleep standing at your side. At some point her head comes to rest on your shoulder, and when you look down to see her eyes drifting shut, you act on instinct and catch her before she falls.

After you lay her down on the bed and tuck the cheap motel blanket around her shoulders, you sit on the bed beside her, carefully tucking a stray curl back behind her ear.

You're not sure if you stay awake to keep away the monsters, or if you stay awake because you're scared if you fall asleep you'll become one.

Either way, you don't sleep until the sun starts to rise, when you lie back and let your eyes drift shut.

You startle awake to the sounds of someone knocking at the door. You're on your feet in seconds, rushing to the door, terrified that it's someone looking for the two of you.

Fear causes pinpricks of red to stain the edges of your vision, and you clench your fists tightly,

Felicity grabs your arm. "Tommy, it's okay. It's just Diggle and Oliver."

You want to push her away. If this continues, if it takes over like it did before, you could kill her.

You don't know who those people are, but Felicity seems to understand that. "They're friends," she continues. "They're my friends, and they're your friends. You can trust them."

"But you can't trust me," you say. "Felicity, don't trust me. We don't know what they did to me."

"That doesn't matter. I know you." She frowns. "Well, I don't actually know you, but I know Oliver and Oliver knows you."

"Felicity," you say, and you feel your hands tighten on her shoulders, " _I don't know Oliver_."

"But you did," she says. "Better than anyone. And he knew you, and you're a good person. No matter what they did to you, I doubt they could have changed that."

You don't know why it happens, but you feel that panicky, overwhelming loss of control start to fade. The red around your vision dies down, and you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.

It's then that you notice the knocking at the motel door has gotten rather insistent, and there's a man's voice frantically shouting, "Felicity!"

"Are you okay if I open the door?" she asks.

You nod. Keeping her eyes on you, Felicity reaches over to unlock both locks and twist the handle. A second later two men are bursting through the door. The shorter of the two embraces Felicity quickly, arm wrapping protectively around her waist. She doesn't hesitate to throw her arms around his neck.

 You feel this surge of...you're not sure what. It's not quite jealousy or anger. It's loss. Felicity's the only person you really know in this bizarre world you've found yourself in. This stranger just coming in and holding onto her like if he loses her his world will go black is unnerving.

"Oliver," the other man says, putting a hand on 'Oliver's shoulder.

Oliver pulls himself away from Felicity and stares at you. His face turns ashen. Silently, you watch as he fights for words, choked by a thick swell of emotion that you can't comprehend.

He's a stranger to you. And he's looking at you like you're his long lost brother.

And then, abruptly, he turns and walks out of the room. Felicity and the other man - who you're starting to guess is the other guy Felicity mentioned, Diggle - exchange a weighted look.

"I'll go after him," he says.

Felicity nods, reaching for your hand. She circles her fingers around your wrist. "It'll be okay. He's just...he's Oliver. He's gonna need some space."

You think space sounds like a really good thing right about now. "He thought I was dead?"

"We all did."

"How am I alive, Felicity? Why don't I remember _anything_? Why don't I remember _him_?"

"I don't know," she says. "But we're gonna figure this out. All of us. You've just got to keep breathing."

Right. Keep breathing. You think you can do that.

* * *

 

As you follow Felicity out of the motel room, it's not hard to tell that Diggle and Oliver are having a conversation about you.

Everything about Oliver is taut, like a drawn back bowstring. You've only seen the guy for about twenty seconds, but you can't help but think that his expression right now is that of someone about to commit murder.

You hope that it isn't _you_ he wants to murder.

You think about the white, puckered scar on your ribcage. You think about that horrible, _horrible_ flash of red, of your hands around Felicity's neck, _squeezing._ You think about the way Oliver's arms went around her, the look of relief on his face when he saw she was okay.

You're not sure you would blame him if he wanted to murder you, especially once he notices those hand-shaped bruises on Felicity's neck. You think you'd like to murder anyone who hurt Felicity like that.

Abruptly, Oliver and Diggle's conversation ends, and Oliver begins marching towards you and Felicity. Dropping your hand, Felicity starts towards Oliver. She intercepts him with a hand on his chest, and then she's saying something. Her voice is low, but whatever she says must be a game changer, because Oliver gets a puzzled look on his face. He looks up at you, then down at Felicity, then back up at you.

He steps around Felicity and walks up to you. "You don't remember anything?"

You shake your head. "I remember waking up."

All the air seems to leave Oliver in a rush. "So you don't know... _why_."

"Why?" Felicity asks from her place beside Oliver.

"Why he's alive, Felicity. He shouldn't be."

"You sound _upset_ ," she says, and there's a bite to her words you've never heard before. "Why are you upset?"

"Because _nothing_ like this happens without some other repercussion. Some kind of trade was made and I would like to know the cost before I--" He cuts himself off. There's something terrifying and dangerous in his eyes as he stares at you.

This man was your _friend_?

The tension is broken by Diggle walking up to the three of you. "C'mon," he says to Oliver. "We should all get out of here."

The two men get in the car, but Felicity grabs your hand - _again_. "Look," she says, "I know Oliver can be a bit rough around the edges, but he really does--he really does care about you. He's just...he's not used to things that are too good to be true. In his experience, they're never true and if they are, they're rarely good."

You don't know how to respond to that.

"Hey," Felicity says, giving you a bright smile that causes your stomach to flip. "We're going to figure this all out.

"What if..." you stop, trying to think of a way to describe that bolt of red in front of your eyes, eventually, you come up blank. "What if _it_ happens again?"

She shrugs, "Then we'll deal with it. We're going to figure this out - whatever it takes. And through this whole thing, I'm gonna be right here. I’m not going anywhere."

As she turns away to climb into the SUV Oliver and Diggle brought, you feel something monstrous and unspeakable twist inside you.

That's exactly what you're afraid of.


	2. Felicity

The drive to Starling City passes in tense silence.

"I have a spare room," Felicity says as they past the 'Welcome to Starling City' sign. "He can stay with me for the night."

That statement increases the tension in the car tenfold.

"Absolutely not," Oliver says, and there's an edge to his voice that's so sharp it could cut glass.

"Oliver - "

"No, Felicity. It's not an option."

Felicity narrows her eyes. "Then where do you want to take him? Verdant? The nearest street-corner? Where?"

If anything, that ratchets the tension in the vehicle up another couple of notches. Felicity feels it prickling at the back of her neck. It hasn't escaped her notice that Tommy has been very, _very_ quiet during this whole conversation. His hands tighten into fists.

For a second, Felicity feels helpless, paralyzed. She doesn't know which one to reach out to, but she aches to comfort the both of them, to reassure Tommy that they're going to help him, to assure Oliver that this isn't a nightmare.

Furtively, she glances over at Tommy. His gaze locks with hers, and she almost _feels_ the tension seeping out of him as he looks at her.

That settled, she leans forward, gently touching Oliver's shoulder. "Oliver?" Felicity says again, softer this time. "We have to take him _somewhere_."

"I have a couch," Diggle offers quietly.

There's a prolonged silence in the car. Tommy looks nervous. Oliver looks pensive. Diggle just keeps driving. Felicity resists the urge to take Tommy's hand to try and soothe him.

Finally, Oliver says, "That'll do."

* * *

 

Felicity feels every eye on her as she steps out of the SUV and onto the sidewalk in front of Diggle's apartment building. Diggle's eyes are full of concern; Oliver's are full of confusion and pain, and Tommy's--

Felicity's not sure what she sees behind Tommy's eyes.

She watches his hands clench and unclench at his sides. She wonders how on earth he's coping, remembering nothing of his life but his name, unsure of who is friend and who is foe. Not even being able to trust his own mind. It must be terrifying. Her heart aches in sympathy for him. She wishes there was something more she could do.

Oliver opens his mouth to say something just as Diggle pulls out his cell phone to make a call. The danger of that action takes more than a few seconds to register in Felicity's mind.

"Dig," she starts to say, "Don't-"

But she's too late. A terrifying screech fills the air, followed by the same tones Felicity heard in the motel room before Tommy...

Before she can stop herself, her hand flies to her neck.

"Turn it off!" she yells as Tommy screams.

"No," he whines quietly, fingers digging into his scalp, "No not again."

Felicity grabs for his wrists to pull his hands away, but Oliver stops her, stepping between her and Tommy. "Felicity, don't!"

"It's okay," she yells, "He won't hurt me." She's not sure even _she_ believes that, but she knows she needs to do something, stop him somehow.

In a blink, Tommy lunges for Oliver, and just as quickly, Oliver has Tommy pressed up against the side of the SUV, his arms twisted and pinned behind his back.

"Felicity," Oliver says in a tone that's dangerously calm, "Are you okay?"

She nods, and then realizes she needs to give an answer verbally. "I'm okay."

By this time, Diggle has gotten the battery out of his phone and the terrible screeching has stopped, but Tommy's pupils are still blown, his breathing is still erratic, and he's still trying to escape Oliver's hold.

Felicity tries to think about what made him snap out of it before. She thinks about how flustered he was getting in the car earlier, how he looked at her and seemed to calm down. Carefully, and without getting too close, in case a growly Oliver Queen decides to snap at her, she steps into Tommy's eye-line. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, but as she stands and waits and calls his name, they slowly begin to fill with recognition.

"Fe-li-ci-ty," he says, every syllable of her name sounding like notes in a chord. " _Felicity_."

"You're okay," she says, because she doesn't know what else to say. "Oliver, let him go."

The panic in Oliver's expression is obvious, but he trusts Tommy - trusts _Felicity_ \- enough to loosen his hold.

Tommy rubs his shoulder, and Felicity fights the urge to reach for him, to tell him he's gonna be okay. They're gonna figure out a way to fix this, to undo it.

Oliver turns to her, and she sees the anger and worry and _fear_ that she knows has been churning inside him since he entered their hotel room.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me about this, Felicity?"

And Felicity bristles. "Because I knew you would freak out, just like you're doing right now."

"That's a load of bull--"

"Guys," Dig says. Both of them stop, immediately. Felicity feels like her throat is clogged up with words she wants to say.

"Merlyn," Diggle says, turning to Tommy, "You should come inside."

They leave Oliver and Felicity standing on the sidewalk. The absence of Diggle and Tommy deflates the tension between them. Oliver steps closer to her, cupping his hands around her shoulders. The gesture isn't an unfamiliar one.

"Are you okay?" His eyebrows are knit tight with worry, and she wills herself to understand his position, to comprehend how unnerving it must be to have another person he trusted unconditionally turned into a weapon to be used against him.

"I'm okay," she says, and her voice doesn't shake.

"Are you sure?" Oliver uses the backs of his fingers to brush her hair away from the side of her neck. For a second she wonders if he's going to kiss her, but then he says, "I know what causes these kinds of bruises, Felicity."

She doesn't answer.

"He was coming for you," Oliver says. "He wasn't going after me. And he attacked you earlier - in the motel."

She can't deny it, so she doesn't.

"I don't want you anywhere near him."

"I'm what calmed him down, Oliver. Both times. I'm the one who stopped him, pulled him out of it."

His hands tighten slightly on her shoulders. "You don't know that for sure."

"I don't know _anything_ for sure," she says. "But I'm going to find out. You can help me, or you can get out of my way."

Felicity drops her gaze. Oliver Queen is nothing short of intimidating, but she knows how to stand up to him, how to get him to see her side of things. It's the right balance of forcefulness and steadiness. Saying what she needs to say, and then giving it a moment to sink in through his thick skull.

"I'm not going to let him hurt you."

She smiles. It's not a huge smile, but it's something. "Fair enough. Thank you."

"Felicity..." he hesitates. "I care about him too."

She wishes the brokenness in that statement didn't have the power to render her heart into two, but it does. "I know, Oliver."

"So," Oliver says, obviously trying to find a lighter tone and failing. "Where do you want to start?"


	3. Tommy

John Diggle's couch is worse than the motel bed. It sags in the middle and the armrest is hard as a rock. Even after you roll over onto your side, you can't get comfortable. What happens if you close your eyes and your whole life slips away from you again? Everything you remember is gone, swept away in a heartbeat?

You want Felicity.

You don't like being away from her. She's the only thing that feels _real_. You close your eyes and try to breathe deeply, like that can lull you to sleep.

The nightmare comes sometime after you nod off. You dream that there are wires pricking your skin, something heavy on your chest, and a bright light burning your eyelids.

You hear voices, but there are so many that they're indistinguishable one from another, and you can't tell what they're saying. There's something hard and plastic between your lips, and you realize with horror that you can't breathe on your own, even though you can feel your lungs exhaling and inhaling again. You're in your body, but you're also _not_. You can't consciously move, and it's terrifying.

In the dream, your skin burns. There's no way for you to move and alleviate the pain though; all you can do is stay still and endure it as it pulses and writhes inside you.

When you finally wake up - gasping for air and covered in sweat - your head is pounding and the scar below your ribcage _aches_. 

You want Felicity.

You want to feel her hands wrapped around yours; you want to see her smile and know that everything's going to be alright. She's the only happy thing you remember.

You think about how she offered up her spare room and the sharp edge in Oliver's voice when he said, "Absolutely not." You remember the way she smiled kindly up at you, the softness in her voice when she told you that you'd be safe here, that she'd see you soon. (Soon isn't good enough. You want her now.)

You think about how Oliver didn't want to leave her side, even as she stood talking to you, the way his hand seemed to hover over her shoulder, like he wanted to keep his arm around her but also didn't know how to touch her. That thought makes you want to _hurt_ him, take a knife to him and watch him bleed. And _that_ urge scares the hell out of you.

In your mind's eye, you can see her blonde curls, the curve of her lips, and the soft flutter of her eyelashes. You want to touch her, to bury your hands in her hair, to taste her lips, and to feel her eyelashes brush lightly against your skin. You want the press and slide of her body against yours, the sensation of skin on skin. You want reassurance that this world is real, that you're actually alive.

None of these things are things you have any right to want. None of these things are things you should ever do if you want to keep Felicity safe from them, safe from what they've made _you_. You need to stay away from her. That thought makes your head hurt even more.

When you do eventually fall back to sleep, you dream of Felicity.

* * *

 

You wake up to a crick in your neck, the smell of coffee in the air, and the sounds of hushed voices in the kitchen.

"Shh," you hear Felicity say, "I think he's awake."

And then she's in front of you, holding out a mug of coffee. You take it gratefully. Sleep was a little hard to come by last night, and you can already feel the beginnings of a migraine creeping up on you.

"C'mon," Felicity says, "Oliver wants to draw some of your blood, and Dig's making omelets."

Only one of those things sounds like something you really want, but you're guessing you're going to have to do one before the other.

You follow Felicity into the kitchen, taking a sip of coffee, and marveling that it's been made with just a little bit of cream, exactly how you like it.

"Oliver made it," Felicity says, answering the question you hadn't asked. She motions to a chair at Diggle's small kitchen table, and you sit down across from Oliver, whose gaze appears to be intentionally avoiding you.

"Why do you need my blood?" you ask as Oliver rubs an antiseptic wipe over a patch of skin on your upper arm.

In Diggle's kitchen, Felicity paces anxiously, tablet in hand. You wish you knew how to calm her down, the way she always manages to calm you down. 

You try not to flinch when the needle pierces your skin.

"We want to see if there is any way to determine which drugs they used on you," Felicity answers. "We can only hope they're still in your system."

That seems like a pretty stupid thing to hope, from your point of view, because if your episodes were caused by drugs, and those drugs are out of your system, then you should be safe. For now.

"I'm sending them to a friend of mine in Central City," Felicity says, and you hate the way her expression is filled with worry.

Oliver finishes up with your arm, Diggle sets an omelet in front of you, and Felicity sits down in the seat across from you. "I know we've sort of gone over this, but I'm hoping that some of your memory is starting to return. What do you know about the place they had you?"

You can practically _feel_ Oliver and Diggle bursting with curiosity, but you stay focused on Felicity. She's solid and real, and her lipstick is pretty and pink and her dress is the prettiest royal blue.

"I remember _feeling_ ," you say, pausing to take a deep breath. "I remember pain in my side; I remember struggling to breathe. I remember how much everything _hurt._ "

"Where was the pain, exactly?" Oliver asks, and you're almost thrown by his presence in the room. You gesture to the spot on your ribs, and Oliver's whole demeanor changes. "That's where the rebar was," he tells Diggle. Not you. Diggle.

"Rebar?" you say, trying to keep the annoyance out of your tone. Everyone else in this room knows more about you thank you do about yourself and it's hell. "What rebar?"

"When you died," Oliver begins, pointedly not looking you in the eye, "There was a strand of rebar through your chest. Your lungs filled with fluid. I watched while you suffocated."

You look at Felicity, hoping she's willing to give you a few more details. "There was an earthquake. You went to get your...your girlfriend to safety. She made it out. You didn't."

"What was her name?" you ask, and you're expecting Felicity to answer, but it's Oliver who says, "Laurel."

Any hope that her name would spark something inside you dies immediately. There's no recognition whatsoever. "Laurel," you say slowly, hoping saying it out loud will make a difference. Maybe it'll fill up that hollow space in your chest like _Felicity's_ name does.

"Laurel," you repeat, but it's still hollow. You can imagine all kinds of things about her, but there's no way to know what's true and what's conjecture. "Where is she?"

There's a weighted look that passes between the three of them. "We haven't told her yet," Felicity says. "We thought it might be easier on the both of you if you had a few days. See if any memories start to come back."

You're not sure how you feel about that idea, but there's nothing extremely _bad_ about it - you're not sure you really _want_ to meet this Laurel so soon - so you nod in agreement.

"What do we do in the meantime?"

Felicity's looking at Oliver while she shakes her head sorrowfully. "I have no idea."

* * *

 

Your day only gets worse.

Everyone has to go to work. No one wants to leave you alone. It's quite the conundrum, but you insist, several times, that you are a grown adult, and you can handle being in Diggle's apartment without supervision.

Oliver frowns and mopes, but when Felicity suggests calling in sick so she can stay with you, he immediately caves.

You don't understand the look that passes between them, and it makes your stomach twist.

Diggle provides you with a list of places for takeout, gives you directions to a place called Big Belly Burger so you can meet up with them for lunch, and provides you with emergency cash.

(From what Felicity has said, you once had money, but since you've been dead, you don't have access to it anymore. You wonder if you're the sort of man who would normally be irritated with someone else giving you spending money, but in the end, you're too tired to question it.)

You wait until the three of them are gone, then you immediately grab Diggle's laptop. Making yourself comfortable on the sofa, you open it up and stare at the search page.

What should you look for?

 _Thomas Merlyn_ , you type.

The results pop up on screen a second later:

**TOMMY MERLYN, DEAD AT 28.**

**GLADES' EARTHQUAKE KILLS MERLYN GLOBAL HEIR.**

**TOMMY MERLYN ONE OF 503 FATALITIES IN MERLYN/QUEEN QUAKE.**

Hesitantly, you click on the second article. It confirms what Felicity and Oliver have been saying. You went to the Glades to find a woman named Laurel at the CNRI building. It collapsed on top of you. They pulled your body from the rubble the next morning. Your funeral was a week later.

There are pictures of Laurel there. You think you should recognize her, but the caption below the photo is the only reason you know the brunette you're looking at is Laurel Lance. For several minutes, you stare at the image.

You died for this girl.

And you could swear on a stack of Bibles that you've never seen her before in your life.

Swallowing past a growing knot in your throat, you go back to the search results.

**THE TRUTH COMES OUT: Moira Queens' Scandalous Affair with Malcolm Merlyn.**

**TOMMY MERLYN: "OLIVER QUEEN WAS MY BROTHER."**

**TOMMY MERLYN, ARRESTED AT 21.**

**QUEEN AND MERLYN: REUNITED AND IT FEELS SO GOOD.**

**TOMMY MERLYN TO MANAGE QUEEN'S VERDANT.**

On and on it goes. You spend hours pouring over every article you can get your hands on. Then there are videos and photos.

You find yourself getting more and more frustrated. Something has to sink in. You need more than just the knowledge of who you were and what you've done. Something that you see needs to spark _memory_.

Nothing does.

Frustration tears at you. All the evidence is there, that you and Oliver were friends, that Laurel Lance was the love of your life.

But it's all meaningless. It's factual information, when all you want is to just _feel something_. You're so numb.

You keep clicking.

There are pictures of you and Laurel at some event and more of you and Oliver together after he returned from being shipwrecked. You spend at least twenty minutes pouring over articles about the Queen's Gambit going down, how a woman named Sara Lance died on the yacht with him, and how she was the sister of the infamous Laurel, who was dating Oliver at the time.

You were in love - you _died_ \- for a girl who was in love with _Oliver_? Before he slept with her sister, obviously, but still.

...and then there is a picture of you and a girl. She has wavy brown hair and a strangely sad smile on her face. What you assume was your suit jacket is draped around her shoulders.

The caption reads: _Tommy Merlyn and Thea Queen attend Oliver Queen's homecoming party._

So she's Oliver's sister. And the two of you apparently know each other.

There's too much information in your head. You lean forward to set the laptop down on Diggle's coffee table, and a spear of pain shoots through your skull. It _hurts_ , and you're not sure how to differentiate between the pain in your head and the pain in your heart. There's no way to quantify all that you've lost. All these memories that are gone. All these things you should _feel_ more than you _know_ have been ripped violently away.

"Tommy."

You can't breathe. Your chest feels tight; you're sweating and dizzy and...

"Tommy."

You look up, and there's Felicity. Bright colors and life and light. Tenderly, her hand rests on your shoulder.

A flash of read streaks across your vision and _no, not again._ Not now. Not when she's here. You will _not_ hurt her.

"Tommy."

You latch onto the sound of her voice, to the syllables of your name. She's real, you remind yourself. She's real and she's here and she makes you feel safe.

She makes you _feel_.

_"Tommy."_

You snap back into reality with a jolt. Felicity's lips are downturned with concern. "I came to bring you to lunch. Are you alright?"

The panic is subsiding; your breathing is back to normal. Softly, Felicity brushes the backs of her fingers across your forehead. "Tommy?"

You swallow past the lump in your throat. "I'm fine."

You're a horrible liar.

She doesn't believe you; you can tell. "Come get some food. We're going to meet Oliver and Dig at Big Belly Burger."

Food sounds completely unappetizing right now, but Felicity's right here, and you'd follow her anywhere. When you look at her, you forget the depths of all you've forgotten.

You forget everything but her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note, if you're really loving this series and want to read each drabble as soon as possible, please note that they're all posted on my [tumblr](http://andyouweremine.tumblr.com) before they make it to AO3.


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